


Death of a Hero, Death of a Tyrant

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Series: Escaping the Cage [9]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, I don't think this is too graphic to warrant the violence tag but just in case, Violence, the landsmeet was rugged for all involved okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 00:58:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15401439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: The Landsmeet doesn't exactly go according to plan.





	Death of a Hero, Death of a Tyrant

Ilya wishes she had let Zevran fix his spare dagger to her staff, like he’d offered. She wishes she had allowed Sten to fight this for her, like  _he’d_ offered. Warrior against warrior, the fight would be a quick, bloody thing. 

Her staff is heavy and firm in her hand, a familiar weight. 

 _This is pointless,_  she thinks.  _I’m going to die here._

Loghain stares back at her, the Void in his dark eyes.

They circle - once, twice - testing each other, watching. She tries to imagine him as a hurlock, or an ogre, twisted rage and fear made flesh. 

He pulls his sword and she flings herself into action. 

Her hands crackle and burn, lightning building over her fingertips. Loghain rushes toward her; sword high, he strikes, forcing her back, back, back.

She slams the butt of her staff against the stone floor. A flood of ice crystalizes under his feet. He stumbles, slipping to his knees with a snarl. 

Beads of sweat drip down her brow, down her neck, as he comes back to his feet. Ilya swings her staff even as she takes a trepidatious step backward. A spray of lightning arcs between them. Loghain closes in on her, sparks playing over the bright metal of his armor.

Behind her - beside her? she can’t keep anything straight anymore, focusing on the boiling hatred in Loghain’s eyes - she hears her name, agonized and pained.  

_Zevran, my love. I wish we had more time._

She does not look back.

Loghain strikes and she barely gets her weapon between them in time. His blade bites into it with a sickening crack. Splinters fall and he presses the advantage, swinging again. 

Her staff breaks in her hand. 

Ilya is thrown backward. His sword slices cleanly into her shoulder, nicking the long edge of her ear where he had barely missed her head. A shout tears from her throat and another bolt of lightning hits him in the chest. He falls to his knees with a roar. 

 _Get up, get up,_  she tells herself, but the blade bit deep. She can either heal herself or fight, but she can’t do both. The assembled members of the Landsmeet rage around her. Armored bodies gleam in her peripheral vision - Loghain’s soldiers, no doubt, here to finish what he started.

For all the support she had garnered, it wouldn’t be enough. 

_Get up, or die._

She stumbles to her feet to find him looming over her. 

“I can’t let you lead Ferelden into ruin,” he tells her darkly. Loghain’s eyes bore into her own. 

Time slows. His sword leaps toward her with a precise grace. They weren’t supposed to kill each other, but he will, and she knows it. Lightning pulses in her palms with her heart, rabbit-fast in her chest. 

“I have to do what’s right.” His voice is a distant roar, the riotous din around them the waves of Lake Calenhad against the shore. 

The blade slips easily through her bloodied leathers, a hot knife through butter.  Whatever shout had lingered on her tongue slips away. Copper - hot, burning, bright bright bright - floods her senses. 

Ilya shudders and almost falls. Her hands pull herself up his blade. One chance, she has one chance. She takes it, latching onto him even when he drops his sword. Her fingers scrabble for Loghain’s face. 

Lightning races through her when her palms flatten over his cheeks. They drop, a mass of writhing limbs, and she throws herself over his chest. The blade tears through her anew with each convulsion. Blood slicks between them, staining leather and metal alike. 

His mouth works in a wordless scream and she lights up again. Mana wrings from her body like water from a wet rag, twisting, coiling, tight. 

Loghain shudders beneath her - once, twice, bucking wildly - and stills. 

She slumps forward; her eyes drift shut.

The war is over.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr at [ocean-in-my-rebel-soul!](https://ocean-in-my-rebel-soul.tumblr.com)  
> 
> 
> Comments and concrit always appreciated! Thank you for reading!


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